


we could've been great (you and i)

by orphan_account



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: 5 minute drabbles, A to Z - Freeform, M/M, Not In Chronological Order, unbetaed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-10 22:46:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 3,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5603758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>26 moments. we're fucked up, but it's alright.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i. acquaint

"hi," the smiling boy in his dance lessons says. his smile is even more blinding up front, large teeth and crinkled eyes. kevin warms up instantly. "i'm junmyeon."

it's the first scrap of kindness kevin has seen for months, but he knows this boy hangs around jonghyun and minho, who are both confirmed to debut later. he's been in the industry for years, he's heard, but they're not letting him go for a reason. a smile shouldn't change that.

"kevin," he says, shortly, and junmyeon _beams_. after a second, he smiles back.

 


	2. ii. believe

"we won," junmyeon's voice says in his ear. "we _won_ , yifan, we won, this is so -" he sounds choked up, still, and the swooping ball of elation in yifan's gut hasn't ebbed away enough for him to compose himself, either, so he overlooks it: just buries his face in junmyeon's hair, and breathes in. he smells of sweat and his herbal shampoo, and his smile is pressed up against yifan's neck.

everything is good. they can't stop shaking. 


	3. iii. caprice

they deal with hate differently.

tao, he locks himself up in the bathroom until sehun comes to coax him out, cries his little heart out into sehun's shoulder. jongdae sings, tears his throat raw just to be better. baekhyun screams into a pillow, into chanyeol's neck, into minseok's chest.

junmyeon - junmyeon doesn't break, ever, unless he's had a bad day, unless the pressure's too much, because they all know that while yifan is only there to put the puzzle pieces of exo-m together when they're broken apart to make them behave, junmyeon needs to build everything up from scratch: weave together unruly threads to make something good, to carry all of exo.

he pulls the strings. he's the _leader._

kris plays to suho's whims like yifan plays to junmyeon's. junmyeon tugs on his threads; pulls him closer, whispers hatefulness and words about how he's _so much better_ than everyone who has even thought of hating him into the space between them. he's holding back tears, and one minute - one minute yifan is rubbing his shoulders, and the other his lips are on junmyeon's.

they move apart as if scalded. "accident," yifan says before junmyeon can say anything. "it was an accident. sorry." 


	4. iv. dense

they're whispering again beside him. minseok stamps down the irritation as junmyeon leans back into yifan's chest; he can't see their faces, but he knows that if he turns his head to the side yifan's arm would be secure around junmyeon's shoulders, pulling him in close so he can talk properly to him. after a second, junmyeon scoots his chair backwards.

the fans are going to have a field day. minseok doesn't bother chiding them; it's not like they don't know exactly what they look like. he just wishes they'd figure out that it's not fanservice, not really.


	5. v. exodus

the second they're alone, yifan presses junmyeon up against the door. junmyeon leans his head back, relishes in the way a cocky smile can make yifan groan and press all the lines of his lean, long body against him, trapping him up against the door until he's surrounded by all sides. the height difference is awkward, but only just.

at least, it is, until yifan wedges a thigh between both of his and hikes him up so they're nose to nose, arms locked tight around his sides like he's scared he'll turn away if he doesn't keep him close.


	6. vi. fervor

it's frowned upon, what they do.

yifan can't help the roiling in his gut whenever he looks at junmyeon's beautiful, terrible face, the underlying knowledge that he is wrong and junmyeon is _wrong_. they are both freaks, but even though he hates it, junmyeon's the only person he feels can really make him let _go._ the roiling calms, turns into butterflies when junmyeon calls him ' _duizhang_ ' with that pretty, pretty voice of his.

he can't decide on whether he wants to love him or hate him, but he makes him _feel_ things with such intensity that yifan feels like he's falling, falling and drowning and _choking_ , someone help him, someone _help._


	7. vii. grief

"fuck you," junmyeon says to him, the first time he calls him after leaving. " _fuck you for leaving_. you couldn't even tell me before? you couldn't even _tell_ me what you were feeling?"

his tongue is a stub in his mouth, textured like wet sand. he didn't know what he'd expected, but it's not this hatefulness. it's not the sound of junmyeon's voice, harsh and disgusted. it scrapes at his insides.

"i'm sorry," he manages, finally. junmyeon scoffs, the sound tinny over the speakers.

"you didn't even trust me enough to tell me," he says, softer, and hangs up.


	8. viii. hypocrisy

"he still talks to you?" kris says, surprised. "why does he still talk to you?"

"jealous, are we?" lu han says, but there's none of his familiar bite. he looks happy, but tired. sick. it's so familiar. "it might be because, you know, i actually  _told_ him i wanted to leave."

kris draws back. "it's been so long."

"he trusted you the most out of all of us," lu han says, and stirs three packets of sugar in his coffee. it's a reprimand, even if han's tone is light and airy. kris watches the tiny whirlpool, staying silent until lu han clears his threat again.

"you didn't exactly uphold that trust. he's not angry because you left; he's angry because you didn't trust him after _everything_."

everything is such a loaded word. kris holds his gaze. he thinks of junmyeon's dreams, and how his elation at living them hasn't faded even after so long. "he wouldn't have understood."

"you didn't even tell _me_."

"no one would have understood -"

"and yet, here we are, and i'm filing a lawsuit for the exact same reasons you did. you're not the only one who suffered, kris," lu han says, harsh. "he did too. we _could_ have understood. you could have helped us understand, even."

kris has nothing to say.


	9. ix. interception

the first time they see each other after kris leaves, it's in an airport.

kris catches sight of junmyeon first. he looks like he hasn't gotten any sleep in weeks, but he's smiling his toothy little smile at a clingy jongdae. on any other day, kris would have taken this as ordinary: jongdae has always been so attached. but he's not a part of twelve anymore, not physically or mentally. there's that spark of jealousy that makes itself known like something bitter and heavy on the tip of kris's tongue. junmyeon hasn't even noticed him yet, but kris already wants to duck, to go away, to turn away until he's ready to face him.

he's too late. junmyeon's gaze shifts, and his smile slips right off his face. for a minute, that smile crumples inward - brows coming together and mouth twisting into an ugly grimace, like he can't even stand the _sight_ of kris, and then - and then, before kris can call out and explain and ask for forgiveness _again_ , jongdae notices, and pulls him away without a second glance in his direction. it stings, a little bit.

jongdae - he's one of kris's. 

don't touch him, kris thinks. jongdae molds himself to junmyeon's back, matching his steps. don't _touch him_.


	10. x. jealousy

yifan scrapes his teeth over junmyeon's pale throat, thinks of how much he'd like to mark him up, show everyone he's _taken_. "can choi minho do this?" he snaps, in his duizhang voice, large hand cradling junmyeon's head as he drives in, relentless.

whatever the other is about to say, the thrust makes him forget it. it turns into a long, drawn out moan, and, despite the circumstances they're under, yifan is _satisfied_. he rolls his hips, clumsy and jerky, one more time so he can hear that needy sound one more time. he's out of practice after so long, but junmyeon still arches and fucks himself open like he loves it. "can he fuck you like this?"

junmyeon laughs, breathless. "are you jealous?" he asks, eyes bright, and clenches down so hard on kris that it makes him muffle a grunt of pain into his slim shoulder. there's a mark that he didn't put there. _fucking_ choi minho.

"yes." he doesn't look up; instead, he closes his teeth over the wound and sucks a new one there. the red is so pretty against junmyeon's skin. "he can't have you."

"neither can you," junmyeon says, amused. yifan can _hear_ the smile in his voice and laughs despite himself.

"no," he agrees. "i can't, either."

they smile into their kiss. there is no mirth.


	11. xi. keepsake

junmyeon doesn't believe them at first, when they say yifan's gone. 

it's not that he doesn't understand why someone would want to leave: he's heard stories, witnessed what goes on behind closed doors, and yifan's not exempt from what the company throws at everyone who's unlucky enough not to be a rising star from the very beginning. it's just that they're on their peak and they're finally getting breaks and it's - it's getting _better._

it's getting better. 

"he wouldn't without telling us," he says to the rest, something dark clawing at his throat. he can feel them slipping from his fingertips into panic. he wishes he had yifan at his side to reel them in and make them _listen_. "he wouldn't at this time. his things are _still here_. let's just wait, okay? let's wait and see."

(there are three photographs of himself that yifan keeps over his desk in the exo dorms, other than the one with all of exo right after their first win: one with luhan and tao, another with yixing, and the last with junmyeon. he barely even looks at them, really - they're just things that fit right at home, like the crack over in the bottom left corner of the ceiling, or the tiny coffee stain on the carpet, hidden under the desk chair. 

yifan doesn't take the picture of junmyeon with him.)


	12. xii. lethargy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: dialogue only.

"get _up_."

"you're comfortable. stop moving, would you?"

" _you are suffocating me_ -"

"hushhh. this is nice. let me sleep, goddammit."

"i have _schedules_. unlike you. oh my god. the kids will be looking for me."

"the kids can handle themselves, they're grown up now. you've done well. anyway, i'm more important than they are - hey, don't laugh. don't laugh! stop." 

"don't delude yourself. ' _more important than they are_ '. you're so arrogant."

"it's called _confidence_ -"

"oh, _please_ -"

"- in my significant other. please don't discredit me. are you telling me it's not true?"

"i don't know, the confidence isn't exactly mutual after what you pulled back in 2014."

"stop going on about that! i _told_ you i was sorry. i told you."

"on the _phone_."

"yes, but i did, didn't i? and i totally said sorry in person after that, too. babe. babe, listen. _baobei..._ "

"no, no, _you_ listen. on the _phone_ , at first! what was going through your mind, why did you think that was a good idea?"

"i was! a different person back then! and i've changed. anyway, you forgave me, didn't you?"

"ha. no."

"if you hadn't, you wouldn't be _heeeeere_."

"i'm contemplating _not_ being here."

"you love me."

"shut up. i thought you were going to sleep?"

"yeah, but..."

"but?"

"... it's nothing."

"yifan?"

"just - you won't be here when i wake up, will you?"

"... i..."

" _junma_."

"... i'm sorry, jagi. it's the way things have to be, until everything slows down. until we can relax."

"when will it?"

"i don't know. hush. sleep."

"stay, this time. please."

"... i'll see. we'll see. _sleep_."


	13. xiii. masks

"it's too much," junmyeon says, frustrated, smacking the mattress too hard. his red hair is still wet from his shower because he's much too tired to blowdry it, slicked away from his forehead, but the heavy strands still fall forward. "i thought it would be okay but it's too fucking much. i'm not a fucking _doormat_."

"it won't last for long. they'll abandon the stereotyped character concept soon enough." 

"it feels like i've been smiling and nodding to everything for ages. i hate being like this. sometimes i don't want to smile and agree -"

" _junma_. i know. i know."

"the members don't even respect me as much as they should." junmyeon shifts, leaning back against the wall so he can pull his knees up to his chest. his bare heels slip on the sheets until he's sitting much more loosely, but he doesn't seem to mind. "just because i smile and bear it, they treat me like i'm not even their hyung. maybe i should get angry at them once - discipline them like you do -"

the industry is a masquerade, a congregation of facades melding together into a long, drawn out blur. smile for the cameras and for the interviews, for the fans that stalk and objectify you into ideal husbands and boyfriends and fuckbuddies. smile for the choreographers that frown down at your bumbling movements, and for the staff that compare you to other idols in the same company behind your backs. smile for your friends, for the members in your group, so they have something to cling to, so they can see they're not alone in this, even when you're having second (and third, and fourth, and fifth...) thoughts.

junmyeon smiles until his cheeks ache, trying to wear suho's face (it's too loose around the edges, hanging off his skin unpleasantly). yifan is told not to smile too much, to be cool and collected like kris (another identity, another face to wear; he's used to this, but kris is a little too pinched for him to be comfortable at all).

yifan purses his lips, reaches out to cover junmyeon's smaller, paler hand in his. junmyeon turns his hand, palm up so they can thread their fingers together. "it's just that my group has three of the eldest. it's not about _me_ disciplining them, junma."

"i'm the eldest in my _fucking_ group."

"the rest are immature. they need time to grow into things."

"i'm better than them," junmyeon says, pulling his hand away. "i'm better than _every last one of them_. i've trained for longer than anyone, but they still fucking call me talentless behind my back..."

yifan draws away instead of chasing junmyeon like he usually does; it's not that he hasn't heard the younger man rant before, behind the comfort of a closed door and 'leadership talks', but it's the first time junmyeon has mentioned what they say about him. and yifan - he hasn't been chosen for his singing or dancing or rapping at all. it's not like he ever wanted to be an idol, but his mother... it's easier on her. he doesn't know why he feels the pang of offense: it's not about him, but it... puts things in perspective. a little.

"we were picked for a reason," yifan tries. 

"me because they wanted a leader that was familiar with sm and how it worked," junmyeon says, sharper than a knife. "you because they needed a leader who could actually control the members. i'm the pity pick." and, when yifan opens his mouth: "don't deny it. you know it's true."

"it's not," he insists. "look; we're both tired..."

"you agree."

"no, i don't."

"stop." junmyeon looks tired, all of a sudden - not like he's seconds away from bursting into tears. "they're holding me back, yifan. i've always wanted to debut, but now there are so many _problems_..."

"it'll get better. you'll be fine. things happen in new environments like this: most of them haven't even been trainees for long. they don't know how to deal with so much attention, it's getting to their heads a little bit. we can temper this. it'll be alright in the end."

"... i hope so."

"you know you can talk to me whenever you want, about these things." yifan smiles, awkwardly, and has to lift junmyeon's chin with a finger to make him look him in the eyes. "i'm not too good at this, but i'll try."

"stop," junmyeon says again, but there's no vitriol, there. after a moment, he holds yifan's hand.


	14. xiv. neverland

they make yifan go back in the water. he's not really looking forward to it at all: the water is cold, the air bites at the tip of his nose, and even though he's used to the cold after so many years in canada, he still likes his toes being warm instead of dipped in rolling waves. but there are cameras trained on him. before filming, pd-nim reminded him (and junmyeon) that they have to be examples: that they have to be more than leaders, because the title isn't just about keeping the members in check, it's about being the faces of exo in the industry. rule of thumb: the fans know the group by the visual and the industry knows the group by the leaders, picking away at a constructed ideal in hopes of finding flaws underneath: _what sort of leader would you be if you didn't even do this for the members, kris?_

he watches as the crinkled edges of junmyeon's eyes turn clearer, brighter as he runs close, the curl of his wide smile a gash of blinding white in his pale face. there's something different about him now, in the way he holds himself, even with a frame so small and drowning in layers of warm clothing, hair that's still just a little reddish in the dawn when the early sun slants over it. a herald of yifan's demise. he is _warm_ , in the sense that his sleepy, puffy face is what yifan seeks out first at the breakfast table; most days, he doesn't brush his hair before coming down to eat, so it sticks up in flyaway strands that are flattened on one side of his head. it makes something that breathes a little like fondness rise in yifan's chest. he has never been a morning person (especially considering what exo's mornings consist of: waking at the crack of dawn three hours after going to sleep with limbs screaming and head heavy). he's _still_ not a morning person. it's just that, maybe, looking at junmyeon nursing his glass of cold water, short stubby fingers smearing condensation on the surface of the glass, is a part of his routine. maybe junmyeon fits easily in his idea of everyday life. 

junmyeon is warm, he thinks, again, in the sense that when yifan wraps his arms around him, slowing down so he doesn't bowl him over (he's so small in his arms, so frail), he wastes no time in holding yifan to his slim body even though the cold must be getting to him, too. it's different from all the times they've hugged before, fleeting exchanges of heat with an arm around each other. there's a difference in how sharp the warmth is, this time, clear and making him momentarily forget the cold and how much he just wants to collapse in bed. it feels dramatic, like the hero and heroine of some romance drama running towards each other.

"i'm proud," junmyeon says in yifan's ear, so quiet he almost misses it over the laps of the waves on the shore and the rest of the members shouting their congratulations and approval. "thank you."

but his voice isn't fake-bright, fake-soft like how he approaches the others. before he can ponder the meaning of the change in tone, junmyeon pulls away. cold rushes into yifan's being, even though the stylists are rushing at him to get him in dry clothes and a warm jacket. the cold stays. or maybe it's his heart turning itself inside out, tingling and thudding hard against his rib cage; he doesn't know. _"i'm proud,"_ he recalls, later. _"i'm proud."_


	15. xv. oddities

no one in exo is a morning person. this is justified, in the sense that no one likes waking up at ass o' clock before dawn after collapsing on the nearest clean horizontal surface a scant two hours before. the only one who even bothers with keeping an alarm is minseok, who is actually a blessing in disguise and deserves to be extolled for waking all of them up in time after making coffee for whoever wants it, so they can refresh themselves right after washing their faces. he makes yifan's after waking him up, because yifan, unlike most, actually does not like offending people with the ugly bruises under his eyes, and prefers to come out of the bathroom looking less like he's two seconds away from snapping and either killing someone or collapsing right there on the kitchen floor and snoring away, and thus takes a little longer in the bathroom. only a little.

junmyeon doesn't drink coffee, though. he doesn't bother with the same routine, either (yifan doesn't know what he's thinking, being so casual: they're chosen to be leaders, and he at least has to set an example, right?). he's always seated, half-asleep and rubbing his eyes, at the kitchen table, a half-full glass of cold water in front of him, condensation smeared by the imprints of his short, stubby fingers. his hair's a little flattened on one side, a messy halo tinted red-gold by the dawn's slanting rays filtered through a dirty window. he doesn't bother with fixing it. it's a temptation for yifan not to. something in yifan's chest eases, tingles with fondness when he sees the soft smile junmyeon scrounges up when he notices his outline. it's endearing, this routine, waking up to that smile just before jongin wanders in, blinking blearily, like a secret little exchange just between them. it's comforting, like junmyeon's hands smoothing his hair back so he can dab a tissue over yifan's forehead, or the shape of his body molding against his side (he's still so small) when it's all too much to hold up alone; like clockwork engrained under his skin like how he knows about the little mole on junmyeon's lip, and the path of the veins of the back of his hand, and that he only drinks lattes when he's stressed out because he needs the extra sweetness and the balance of tastes. 

home away from home. what an odd concept.


End file.
